


Won't Find The Beat (Until You Lose Yourself In It)

by geckoholic



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dom/sub Undertones, Eventual Smut, Families of Choice, Handcuffs, M/M, Organized Crime, Past Relationship(s), Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 06:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11686146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: It's been two years since Adrian was undercover to bust a crime ring and fell into an unplanned relationship with Jake, one of its operatives. After the case, Jake and his kid got into witness protection and Adrian thought he'd never see them again.Now Jake is standing in his hallway, having tried to break in, and he's asking Adrian for help.





	Won't Find The Beat (Until You Lose Yourself In It)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NaughtyAnne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaughtyAnne/gifts).



> Alright, so I have a slight feeling that this wasn't ~really what you were expecting to get when you requested _Criminal Boss/Undercover Detective_ , but it's got a bunch of your stated fic likes (improper use of handcuffs, mission with romance, undercover, angst with happy or hopeful ending, and sort of kidnapping and/or rescue) so here's hoping you won't mind the direction this ran into while I was looking the other way. XD
> 
> Beta-read by lustyjustice. Thank you!! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine. Also, many thanks to avi_duck for taking the time to give it a sensitivity read for the non-binary character (Jamie). 
> 
> Title is from "Satellite" by Rise Against.

A tendency for insomnia and working in irregular shifts don’t mix. Adrian found out about that one rather early into his career, when he was still a beat cop working his way up through the ranks. It’s a bad idea to start out on the job by complaining about the hours, and so he stocked up on chamomile tea, bought some relaxation CDs, and hoped for the best. These days, the night shifts are less frequent, but every once in a while a stakeout or a long brainstorming session with the team will still throw him off center, and then the old tea pot with the white and blue Frisian pattern from his grandma will make a reappearance.

He supposes that’s still better than the frequent nightmares some of his colleagues talk about sometimes, with their heads and voices lowered, like it’s something shameful to be human, to be affected by their work, the things they see. Adrian doesn’t have nightmares. Or maybe it’s that he doesn’t have nightmares _yet_. He’s thirty-one. Give him another decade, and maybe then all those files and crime scene photos and confessions will have caught up with him too.

He wraps both hands about his mug and stares out of the window, tries to follow the path of the rain drops that slide down the glass. At this point he’s moved on to Jazz as a relaxing background noise, and it’s on low enough that he can hear the slight prattle even though it’s not raining that badly. He raises the mug for another sip and comes up empty, and he frowns, gets up to refill it in the kitchen. The tea pot is covered by a towel to keep the tea warm longer, and he’s just set that aside and is about to wrap his hand around the handle when he hears a telltale clicking sound from the front door.

Adrian has a set of lock picks that he keeps with him at all times. Part of the training for his undercover gigs; that’s among the first things one gets taught when one is supposed to infiltrate low and mid-level criminal networks. It means he knows the sound of a cylinder being prodded and then tricked, and he grabs a kitchen knife from the counter and kills the lights, waiting in the doorway when his uninvited visitor slowly pushes the door open. 

The ensuing scuffle doesn't last long: his intruder might know how to get a lock open with some skill, but he's not a fighter. He startles when he sees Adrian in the doorway and delays his first swing, and it's laughably easy to parry that and get him in a headlock in return. Within maybe a minute Adrian's got the knife at his throat, and drags him towards the light switch to see just who thought it wise to break into an organized crime detective's home at nearly two in the morning. 

Adrian hits the switch and the hallway is bathed in warm, yellow light, and he lets out a breath when he recognizes the intruder's face. Or his dark blue eyes, more like it; he did possess the good sense to wear a cloth wrapped around most his face while breaking and entering. 

"Jake," he says, and deposits the knife on a shelf of the nearby wardrobe, although not releasing his visitor quite yet, which makes the maneuver a bit awkward. It forces him to tighten his grip around Jake's neck, and the way Jake instinctively _relaxes_ into that instead of tensing further should not be so familiar, so exhilarating. They haven't seen each other in two years. Mistakes were made back then, and Adrian should have long since gotten past that. 

But analyzing his lingering reactions to unfortunate romantic decisions made years prior is far from a priority right now. There are more pressing concerns. Why Jake is even here, for example. He's supposed to be in witness protection, safely tucked away thousands of miles away. 

As if he sensed Adrian's reaction, Jake presses back against him and exhales. Still the same manipulative asshole, then. “I go by Paul, these days.” 

“Whatever,” Adrian spits, and he releases Jake more to deny him the eventual satisfaction of having coaxed Adrian's body into the inevitable physical response – a bit more writhing and pushing, and Adrian _is_ going to get hard – than for any good tactical reason. “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

Jake takes a step away from him, rubbing his hand along a thin red line across his neck, where Adrian held the knife to it, and looks up, blinking at him. He doesn't wear the smug grin Adrian halfway expects, and that's a whole different brand of concerning. Jake Paretti doesn't usually let anyone see his cards, and the deep shadows on his face, the unmasked worry, can only mean one thing. 

Adrian forgets about being angry with Jake for the intrusion, instead being annoyed with himself for the fact that Jake still manages to get under his skin in ninety seconds flat. He leans against the wall next to the wardrobe and runs a hand down his face, and then turns to meet Jake's eyes. 

“Is Jamie okay?” he asks, heart in his throat, and there's a moment of genuine panic when Jake takes a deep inhale before answering. 

“For the moment,” Jake says, voice lowered, like he doesn't want to talk about this, doesn't want to confront the reality that his kid might be in danger. He holds Adrian's eyes for a moment longer, then he drops his gaze and adjusts his stance, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “But we need your help. These assholes put out a kill order for _my kid_ and I didn't know where else to go.” 

“Why didn't you go to your handler?” Adrian says, not quite willing to let himself be swayed that easily. 

Mouth pursed, Jake shakes his head. “Not very helpful when she's the killer they sent. I scraped together what cash Paul Bianchi had managed to put aside, took my daughter, and beat it back to New York.” 

_Back to you_ goes unsaid. Adrian curses and pushes himself off the wall. He should have his phone in hand by now, call in the intrusion and have Jake carted back off to Iowa or wherever. Not doing so could ruin his career, cost him his job, everything he worked so hard to achieve. But none of that really matters if doing so means he's risking Jamie's _life_. 

He nods his head towards the living room and waves a hand to usher Jake into the signaled direction, while he himself heads for the kitchen. 

The tea is lukewarm at this point, but it's now crawling towards 3 AM and Adrian is in no mood to brew it fresh. He takes a second mug from the cupboard and a coaster from the rack above the stove and walks back into the living room, where he finds Adrian bent over with his head resting on his crossed arms. 

He looks up when Adrian shoves the mug at him, and he looks so tired. Not like a few sleepless nights, like Adrian had, but bone-deep exhaustion. Adrian has a million questions – why did he not ask his handler for help, how did he make it back to New York, what happened to make him leave in the first place, and how did they find him in the middle of nowhere – but there's something else he needs to know first. 

“Where's Jamie now?” he asks, and Jake looks at him with the same appraising look he had when they sat over the defense strategy for one of their lieutenants that had gotten caught and put on trial: respect, appreciation of someone who can keep up with his sharp mind, a hint of longing. 

The moment passes. Jake downs half the contents of his mug in one go and presses the palm of the other hand to his temple. “With my sister's mother in law. Far from perfect, but removed enough to keep her hidden for a few hours.” 

Not for the first time tonight, Adrian grimaces with distaste. Going after Jake, the wayward member, the traitor, that's one thing. Putting a kill order on his teenage kid, that's quite another. It's disgusting. Low. Cruel. Inhumane. 

The rest of Jake's tea goes down with another long gulp. He frowns at the empty mug and gestures towards the pot, a silent request to be allowed to refill it himself. Adrian nods and calculates how long it's going to take them to cycle through all of Jake's relatives and find Jamie, maybe drop a few additional bodies in their efforts to get to her. They have until morning, maybe until noon. They need to find another location, something remote without obvious ties to Jake and easily defensible –

Except that there is no _they_ , hasn't been in two years, never really had been to begin with, and if Adrian makes this his problem without even informing the department, he can kiss his badge goodbye. Might even have to move somewhere with fewer square meters than his current apartment and a roommate who watches him sleep, change, and take a leak. But if he doesn't, Jamie might die. Jake too, probably, because there's no way he'll let them take his kid without a fight. 

He's torn from his thoughts by a loud clatter and a few yelled expletives, and he looks up to see Jake rising to his feet and stepping around a puddle on the floor, within which the Frisian teapot that made it through two world wars and across an ocean lies smashed to smithereens. 

Jake glances his way, muttering an apology, and drops to his knees to gather the shards. Adrian stands up as well and rushes to the kitchen, both to get a couple of rags and a dustpan and brush, and to get some distance between himself and Jake's obvious distress. Because he can't think around that, can't make decisions around that. But then, again, is there really a choice here? 

Adrian likes to think he's got a good eye for people, and a low tolerance for bullshit. _That_ he inherited from the other side of his family, his Jamaican grandmother, and it's proven a whole lot more useful than old kitchenware. Jake isn't a bad person, at the end of the day. An opportunist who made some misguided choices, sure. A criminal, as a result, yes. And even if he were a raging psychopath, and if him and Adrian hadn't... gotten close while he was undercover, that still wouldn't make it okay to sentence an innocent teenager to death for their father's mistakes. 

Back in the living room, Adrian crouches down and holds one of the rags out to Jake. He allows himself one last, weary sigh, the pretense of a choice, before he speaks. “Fine,” he says, and his heart aches with the expression of utter relief that washes over Jake's face with just that one word. “I'll help you.” 

 

***

 

The drive to Jake's relatives is mostly flying blind. The rain has intensified and it's hard to see through even with the windscreen wipers doing overtime, the route is new and unfamiliar, and whenever there's a lull in traffic, Adrian finds himself glancing over to check on Jake. 

There's nothing Jake loves more in the world than his kid. He's quick to give away his own heart, but Adrian remembers that Jake and him had already been fucking for three months – between meetings in the men's room, after everyone left over Jake's desk, that kind of thing – before Jake allowed him to even meet Jamie. It was a dinner date, home cooked Italian meal and everything, and they were both tense, but Jamie made it so easy. Bright smiles and a dark, adult sense of humor, endlessly teasing Jake, testing the water with Adrian by the way of a few self-deprecating jokes. Had he laughed at those, he's sure, he'd have fallen out of Jamie's – and subsequently Jake's – favor for good and without a chance at redemption. 

He also remembers the guilt that crept down his neck when Jake told him that it'd been years since he'd brought anyone home, only maybe once or twice since Jamie's mother went back to Hong Kong, and that Jamie had asked about him coming around again. How much worse it had felt to lie to her, even more so than lying to Jake.

Behind them, someone honks, and only a nudge from Jake makes Adrian realize that he missed a red light changing back to green. Past 4 AM on a Friday night – or Saturday morning, as it were – and the city is still brimming with people and cars, only marginally less than during the day. They approach an intersection, and he looks to Jake with a quirked eyebrow, turns left upon Jake's nod in that direction. 

“Almost there now,” Jake says and it comes on the edge of a yawn, hidden behind a politely raised hand. 

Adrian wonders what time it would be now, in whatever hick-town they'd tried in the Midwest that they'd shipped Jake and Jamie off to. He wonders how long it's been since either of them actually slept. He wonders how Jamie's holding up, knowing there's a target on their head. That thought makes anger rise in his throat like bile, and he swallows it down, pressing his thumbs into the steering wheel so hard they grow white. 

He jumps when he feels a hand covering his own, prying it away from the worn leather. Upon glancing to the side he's met with Jake's sad, tired smile, and Adrian allows him to guide his hand away from the steering wheel and rest it on the center console, then thread their fingers together. 

“Jamie missed you,” he says, and Adrian wants to reply something but doesn't when he finds Jake staring out of the window. “After everything that happened, there's no resentment on her part. I think she might even be grateful. I had an accounting gig in Wisconsin, you know. Average pay, enough for a small house in the suburbs, the option to make manager in three to five years if I do well. So damn pedestrian, through and through, and I don't think I've ever seen her happier.” 

As is often the case with Jake, there's meaning in the negative space between the actual words, in what he doesn't say. That's a language Adrian learned over the time they were together, and it stopped being frustrating after a few months, after he accepted that he'd have to read between the lines to fully understand. 

“I missed her too,” he says, and from the way the tightness in Jake's shoulders ebbs away a bit he's rather certain the message is received in turn. 

Jake turns in his seat and points at a side street a few hundred meters ahead of them. “That way. Fourth house on the right.” 

They park a little ways off – it's a futile precaution, because if someone followed them here they'll keep following by foot, but it puts Adrian at ease a little – and ring the doorbell. It occurs to him then that he's about to meet the extended family of the guy he almost put in prison – actually put in witness protection – and who he lied to for a year whilst fucking him for most of that time, and he's not sure what to expect. But then again, who knows what Jake told them. His relationship with the truth is complicated at best, and he's never touted their relationship around. He probably didn't even mention it. 

The door opens, and a woman in her fifties opens the door. She introduces herself as Karen and invites them in, giving Jake a glare and overlooking Adrian entirely, and then shouts Jamie's name. 

Adrian isn't prepared for the rush of emotions at the sight of Jamie running down the stair, much less for the gut-punch of them when she bypasses her father and jumps straight into his arms. She's grown, of course she has – it's been two years, and there's a solid difference between thirteen and fifteen – and she'd always changed some aspect of her appearance on pretty much a weekly basis. Her hair is even shorter than he remembers, worn in an undercut with bright purple streaks dyed into the natural jet black she inherited from both her parents. She wears makeup now, heavy around the eyes, and it makes for a funny contrast with the band shirt and pajama bottoms she's currently got on. 

The weight of her when she jumps into his arms, though, is somehow still the same. 

“You're here,” she says, pulling back a little, and the wide smile on her face is absolutely contagious. 

Jake clears his throat. “I hate to cut this reunion short, but we should probably come up with a plan.” 

For what it's worth, he sounds calmer now than he did back at Adrian's place, more collected, and maybe it's because he's not alone in this anymore or because he's pulling himself together for Jamie's sake, but Adrian's glad. He's not sure he could have pulled him along the whole time, had no idea how unsettling it would be to see Jake so quiet and subdued, so obviously worried and out of his depth. This is more like him – ready to con himself out of any situation, and never giving up on the pretense of being bigger than his problems. 

“I already have a plan,” Adrian says, gently stepping out of Jamie's embrace and trying to ignore how his heart soars when she snakes her arm around his waist and sticks close. He smiles at Karen, apologetic, by the way of a longer explanation. “Although it might be better if I explain that once we left. Safer for everyone if you don't know where we're going.” 

Karen rolls her eyes, and Adrian can't tell whether she's just that unimpressed and resilient or doesn't buy a word of the whatever story Jake served her, even if it might, for once, be the truth. All things considered, maybe it's best for her if it's the latter. 

He looks at Jamie, squeezes her shoulder, tells her to get properly dressed and gather her things, and five minutes later they're back in the car and he's the subject of matching stares from both the passenger and the back seat in the orange glow of the parking light.

“Now what, Detective?” Jake asks from beside him, and Jamie reaches past his seat and swats him on the arm. 

Adrian adjusts the rear view mirror, once again making sure they don't already have unwanted company. “My grandparents had a bar in the Bronx. After their death, my mother inherited it, but it's been difficult to find a new leaseholder the last couple of years. So now it just sits there, gathering dust, but she can't bring herself to sell it and we've still got the keys. _I_ still have a set of keys. We're going to hole up there, and as soon as it's officially morning I'm going to make a few calls.” 

Those won't be pleasant calls, and they might still result in unemployment and criminal charges on his part, but asking his Captain for help the only course of action he can conceive of that might not provoke bloodshed and a cross-country game of tag against guys with guns. 

 

***

 

The pantry of the bar never really got cleaned out. They threw away all the perishables, of course, but Adrian's younger brother was maybe seventeen when their grandparents got into a that car crash and died within days of each other, and after the grief subsided a little he liked the idea of having a secret base in the event of a sudden zombie apocalypse. Too many Romero movies at an impressionable age, or maybe it was the video games, his mother had mused, but the end result was that they kept the canned food. That was maybe five or six years ago, and it's how him and the Parettis end up sitting on the bar and passing a can of canned peaches between them. 

He'd been a little worried when he turned the main switch, unable to recall if the electricity bills still got paid, but the place dutifully whirred alive. Now they have the houselights on and music playing on low from the old record player that Adrian had forgotten still exists. The records to go with it might be worth a small fortune by now, and the rational part in Adrian wants to tip his mother off to that fact next chance he gets, but the one that insists on nostalgia and that some things are worth more than money, well, that part of him balks at the very idea. 

Jamie shoves the peaches at him again, his turn to fish a slice out with a fork, and she beams at him when he accepts the tin. “This place is so cool.” 

“Yep,” he says, smiling back. “My brother and I used to run around here when we were kids, my dad on duty and my mom working, before my grandparents opened up for the day.” 

“I didn't know you had a brother,” says Jamie, and she shifts towards him, clearly settling in for the whole story. Adrian is about to indulge her, but he doesn't get any further than opening his mouth, because Jake snubs him before he can get the first word out. 

“That's because we never really knew shit about him,” he remarks, casually as they come, and it takes some experience with the way he operates, how good he can be about keeping up a facade, to read the hurt underneath. “Lying to us was literally part of his job.” 

Adrian hands the can back to Jamie and turns around, slowly. He expected something like this sooner, although now he figures Jake's anger wasn't going to flare until he knew his daughter was safe, at least for the moment. Doesn't mean he's going to bite his tongue. “If that's your way of saying _thanks for agreeing to save our asses after I broke into your place at 2 AM_ then you kinda missed the mark.” 

Chewing on her lower lip, both hands wrapped around the peach tin, Jamie looks back and forth between them, a little annoyed, a little pleading. Adrian gives in first; he supposes that's because he's not quite as used to her puppy eyes as her father. He sighs and slides off the bar, searches for Jake's gaze and nods towards the swinging door to the kitchen. 

Back there, he rests his hip against the chrome counter and folds his arms in front of his chest. Not exactly an inviting stance, but right now he doesn't give a shit. He's tired and he's worried and, worst of all, does feel the sliver of residual guilt chilling down his neck. “If there's anything you'd like to get out, go ahead. Hit me. I'm listening.” 

“I heard you got a recommendation for busting us up,” Jake says, standing a few feet away, and his voice is matter of fact, almost cold. “Do your bosses know you regularly bent me over either of our desks for that sweet intimate access to the inner workings of our organization? Or was getting your dick wet part of the plan from the start?” 

The words cut him like a knife, and Adrian understand that to be Jake's intention; Jake isn't mean by design, and if he's lashing out like that, Adrian can only guess at how deep the hurt went when it happened. How betrayed he must have felt. And he wants to explain that it wasn't like that, it was _never_ like that, he may have been undercover and tasked with befriending Jake to gather information, to get in close, but the person who let himself be kissed against a file cabinet maybe a fortnight after they met, the one who slept with him for months, who befriended Jamie and came to care for both of them... that person was genuine. That person was _him_. But that wouldn't erase how it was all wrapped around a lie, wrong and unprofessional, and never should have happened in the first place. 

So all he does say is, “I'm sorry.” 

If anything, Jake's expression hardens further. “Everything. It was all a lie. I... I liked you, I trusted you, and none of it was ever real.” 

“Yeah.” Adrian scoffs. “Sure. I never gave a shit for either of you, that's why I vouched for you and got you the witness protection deal.” 

Jake takes a step towards him, but seems to stop himself halfway, upper body swaying back with indecision. “You did?” 

“What do you think, that you were the only one who got offered a deal because the DA just decided you had such a trustworthy face?” He means for the words to sound cocky, to mock him right back, but they fall come out much softer than intended. 

“You made that happen?” asks Jake, stepping closer still. He cocks his head. “I didn't know.” 

“Because I didn't _want_ you to know,” Adrian replies. It was supposed to be penance, of a sort, not an apology. He was going to carry the guilt for having spent a year lying to both Jake and Jamie, safe in the knowledge that they were getting a new start and Jake would never see a prison cell from the inside, and not have himself absolved.

His eyes drop to the floor, and he doesn’t see Jake close the distance between them until he’s already there, stepping between his legs, kicking his feet apart to make room for himself. He looks back up and sees a small, crooked smile on Jake's face. “You're an idiot.” 

Adrian smiles back, because in a way he been waiting, wishing for something like this – minus the deadly peril, of course – even though he knew it was never supposed to happen, he wasn't supposed to ever see Jake or Jamie again. But now they're here, now _Jake_ is here, right in front of him. “You kinda knew _that_ going in.” 

Jake shrugs his shoulders, grinning, and all it would take is a tilt of the head, moving in a tiny bit, and they could kiss. From the way Jake's looking at his lips again, he'd let that happen, but... this is not their happy ending. Adrian worked so hard to get past all that, past them, and if everything goes well they'll be right back out of his life in less than a day. He leans backwards and turns his head the other way. 

“I should try calling the office,” he says, then waits until Jake's gotten the message and stepped away, allowing him to straighten up and turn towards the swing door. “My boss might be in already, she always gets an early start.” 

 

***

 

Adrian doesn’t actually take a look at his watch until after he’s fled from the kitchen. Just past 6 AM, and so he’s not surprised when Captain Lehane doesn’t pick up yet. She’s an early bird, but not that early, and he’ll have maybe another hour to kill before he’ll have any hope of reaching her. He resists the urge to go outside and clear his head – he’s never been a smoker, but a few friends from college or from the academy were, and he kind of adopted the habit by proxy. They’re safer inside, and even though nothing points to them having been made, and it’s not like anyone’s looking for _him_ , it feels risky, heedless, like he’d be tempting fate.

And so he sits around on a bar stool, watches Jake help Jamie fiddle with the record player, and avoids Jake’s eyes whenever he’s looking over. New music fills the room, something slower this time, more melancholic. The record is more modern too, a slightly different formatting than the one before, and he guesses that explains the fiddling. Another setting for the needle. He wonders how Jake knows that; he practically grew up in this bar and he still couldn’t have explained it to anyone. The records were always his grandfather’s domain; no one else was allowed to touch the equipment.

Her self-assigned task now completed, Jamie glances around the room. She smiles when her eyes catch on him. He smiles back, because it’s Jamie, and she walks over and climbs onto the bar stool next to him, spinning around on it in half-circles.

“Scary couple of days, huh?” he says, and it only now really occurs to him how terrifying all this must be to her. Granted, she grew up the kid of a criminal, but there’s a different between sort of knowing your dad is up to no good, and actively running from former associates of his in the middle of the night.

She waves his concern away, in a gesture that looks exactly like something her dad would do; learning how to repress emotions early. Then her expression brightens and she raises her elbow to nudge his side. “Much less scary now that we’re with you.”

What he did to inspire so much trust and affection from her, he couldn’t say. It’s possible that’s not how it works with kids, anyway – that trying too hard, doing it consciously, would just put them off. But whatever the reason, it pushes away some of the icy sensation left by his earlier conversation with his father.

“My dad really loved you,” she says, as if she somehow felt where his thoughts drifted off to, and that statement inspires a flurry of emotions – a resurgence of the guilt, elation, relief – and Adrian does his best to push them all back into the box that says he cannot, and will not, ever again feel anything else than professional concern for Jake Paretti. “He probably didn’t tell you that, and he certainly wouldn’t do it now, so I’m saying it instead.”

Adrian swallows around a sudden, gigantic lump in his throat.

“It’s too late,” he says, and it’s probably miles away from the clear and decisive dismissal of those feelings, on either of their parts, that he should have aimed for instead.

Jamie cocks her head. “Says who?”

Reason. Common sense. The law. Not Adrian’s own heart, surely, but that treacherous thing has never been the best judge of things, anyway. He allows himself a glance towards Jake, still lingering by the record player, and even manages to hold his gaze for a moment or two when he finds Jake looking back at him. He sighs, and looks away.

He gives Jamie an apologetic smile, jumps off his bar stool and checks his watch again, and redials Captain Lehane’s number even though barely twenty minutes have passed.

She answers on the third ring, sounding annoyed and half-awake, but that quickly changes when Adrian starts explaining to her just how he spent the night. 

About an hour later, they’re all sat in a corner bench in the bar, Captain Lehane included, and she’s listening to Jake’s retelling of the events that led to his and Jamie’s escape back to New York. She grumbles and huffs here and there, but if Adrian knows her at all, then she does believe him. And that’s good, because everything else would mean a return to uniformed patrol duty at best for Adrian, land Jake’s ass in jail after all, and throw Jamie into the system; a whole domino chain full of bad consequences.

Altogether the most outward reaction she gives is whenever Jake calls Jamie _her_ and _she_ because, well, the files all still list her as a boy – a pile of documents that haven’t been progressed in decades and fail to leave any space between checking the box that says male and the one that says female. Captain Lehane doesn’t remark on it, though, and dutifully references her as a _her_ and _your daughter_ when asking questions that involve both Parettis.

After Jake concludes his story, she leans back and sighs deeply, lips thinning into a frown. “The whole witness protection shebang is out of our jurisdiction, so I can’t make any promises. But there are a few favors I can call in from people who owe me for longer than you two have been sprouting facial hair.” She squints at Jake, and expression that Adrian is all too familiar with, but which, thankfully, he mostly sees directed at people other than him. “Let me tell you one thing, Paretti, if I get out of this booth and call your handler’s supervisor and find out she came in to work like any other day and is currently at her desk doing paperwork, I’ll throw your ass into the nearest prison cell and won’t let you out again until your kid here is about your age, understood?” 

Jake shrinks a little – Captain Lehane did not come by her job on accident, and she’s put men a lot meaner and a lot more hardened than either of them into their place – and nods. “That won’t happen. I’m telling the truth.”

She gives him one last stern look and then shuffles out of the booth, already reaching for her cell phone. Jake exchanges a look with Adrian, mouths something that looks like _ball buster, huh_ and Adrian shakes his head because that’s one of these things that Captain Lehane somehow always sees even though she’s currently looking in the other direction. Side effect of being a woman in the police force since roundabout the seventies, perhaps. 

One call is followed by another and that is followed by two more, and Adrian guesses it’s around 10 AM by the time she finally pockets the phone and redirects her attention back to the three of them. “Looks like your story checks out. Your handler hasn’t been in for a few days, and we just changed the disciplinary action she already got cooking into an APB. I promise you we don’t take traitors in our own ranks lightly, and we’ll have everyone we can spare out looking for her.”

“Thank you,” Jake says, with the same detached smile that he’d wear to thank a business partner for a smooth transaction. Not like Adrian can fault him; he wouldn’t show more obvious worry in front of Jamie. “But who says they won’t just send someone else?”

“No one,” Captain Lehane replies. “We’ll just have to try and hide the two of you better this time around. The information you’ve given us so far – and that you will hopefully continue to give us – is very valuable, and it’s in our mutual best interest to keep both of you safe.”

She turns to address Adrian. “Detective Clayton, you’re free to go home, shower, get some sleep. I’ll take it from here.”

Adrian wants to protest, more so when he notices Jamie’s pleading face, but he’s lost arguments against Captain Lehane before and he recognizes a dismissal when he sees one. Insisting now isn’t in anyone’s best interest. He trusts her – otherwise he wouldn’t have called her, wouldn’t have placed Jake’s and Jamie’s continued well-being in her hands – and if she thinks it best that he won’t be present for the rest of the process from here on out, then he’ll follow her judgment.

He hands her the keys for the bar, hugs Jamie goodbye for a long moment, gives Jake a polite, formal handshake, and leaves.

 

***

 

Falling into bed is automatic and happens in a haze, and Adrian is disoriented and has a foul taste in his mouth when he wakes. It's getting dark again outside, and he winces, knowing he'll pay for this recoding of his sleep cycle for a while to come. He's just sat down, freshly showered and dressed in boxers and an old t-shirt, with an instant cappuccino and yesterday's newspaper in hand when the chime of his doorbell echoes through the apartment. 

He's got a good guess at who this might be, and if he's wrong... well, both his parents and his brother have seen him in underwear before, and it's not like he has a bunch of friends who might drop by unannounced. When he opens the door, he catches Jake with his fist raised in the air, moments away from knocking, the movement now frozen awkwardly. 

“Hey,” Jake says, unfurling his fist and retracting his hand, stuffing it in the pockets of his dress pants instead. “Figured I'd use the doorbell this time." 

Adrian steps aside to let him in. “Where's Jamie?” 

“One track mind,” Jake comments as he strides into the apartment. He rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. “It's like I don't even exist. Don't worry, she's safe. I left her with your Captain, which was met with mutual enthusiasm. I think they're bonding."

He marches right on into the living room, and Adrian is vaguely aware that he's been here exactly once before and shouldn't be the one leading anyone anywhere, but, well. This is Jake. And since Adrian himself isn't a huge fan of the idea of discussing whatever Jake came here to talk about while they circle each other in the hallway, he doesn't quite mind. 

Jake plops down on the couch like _he_ owns the place, and leans back, arms wide on the backrest. That leaves Adrian with two options: sitting down close, basically into his open arms, or sitting down on the armchair opposite him. 

He opts for the armchair, and he'd be damned if he doesn't see an edge of disappointment flicker over Jake's face. He leans forward with his elbows resting on his thighs. “Why did you come here again, Jake?” 

“I don't know?” His fingers curl into the upholstery of the couch, and even though he maintains the macho pose, some of the cocky confidence bleeds out of him. “It didn't feel right to just leave. Not after we talked, back at the bar.” 

“Jake...” says Adrian, and he leaves his name hanging in the air like a question, because there's a hundred good arguments for showing him right back to the door and none of them are quite convincing in this very moment. 

“Ah fuck.” Jake's arms slide down the backrest, and he folds his hands in his lap. “For the better part of two years I tried to talk myself into hating you. Like I should, right? You blew up my life. You almost sent me to jail. But the truth is, I never could. And now you're right there, in front of me again, and I still want you so much it hurts.” 

That makes two of them, and maybe they should draw straws to determine who's got to be the responsible one and _walk away_ – figuratively speaking in Adrian's case – and spare them both the agony of tearing up old wounds. That's all this would be, and it's going to suck, once he's gone again, because there was a point where Adrian circled back around to _okay_ , and by the time Jake leaves, when the door inevitably and permanently falls closed behind him, he won't even remember how that felt. He'll be right back in the thick of it, trying all over again to forget him, forget them, and he shouldn't risk that for a quick roll in the sheets. 

And yet he rises to his feet and walks over to the couch, and he sits down, and he tips Jake's chin up and kisses him. 

The way Jake opens up to him immediately, groaning into the kiss, is still intoxicating. He acts like nothing and no one could get a leg over him in everyday life, but like this... he gives in. There's no other way to put it. Something happened between them rather early into their sexual relationship, unnoticed by either of them until it had played out for the first time, and once Jake had handed over control he never asked for it back. 

Now he's the one who draws away first, one hand coming up to massage the back of his neck. His lips are kiss-swollen and still slightly parted, and he licks them in what Adrian would swear is a conscious gesture. Goddamn tease. It takes all of his self-control not to lean in and run his thumb over them. 

Their eyes meet, and Jake grins. 

“Sooooo,” he starts, drawing the word out in a low and suggestive tone that goes straight to Adrian's cock. “Being five-o and all, do you carry handcuffs? Like, do you have some around? Here? Right now?” 

This is a terrible, terrible idea. All of this. Adrian is acutely aware of that. And yet he grins back. 

“I'll get them,” he says, entertaining the idea of ordering Jake to get undressed in the meantime, but this is the last time he'll ever get to see Jake like this and he has no plans of rushing through it. “You stay right where you are. Don't move until I get back.”

The change in Jake is small, subtle, but impossible to overlook for someone who knows what it means. His posture tightens almost imperceptibly, eyes zeroing in on Adrian's face while his pupils dilate and his breathing quickens. He doesn't reply, but he nods, and if Adrian hadn't already been on the way to a full and raging hard-on, that reaction would have done the trick. He hurries into the hallway to get his handcuffs and stuff them into his pocket, and it punches the breath out of him when he comes back into the living room and sees that Jake has indeed not move a muscle, hardly even turns his head to get Adrian back into his field of vision as he reenters the living room. 

Adrian takes his hand, pulls him up, and leads him to the bedroom. Gives in and draws him close for another kiss, this one deep and filthy, just because he can, and traces his lips along Jake's jaw afterwards. 

“Keep still, okay?” Adrian whispers against Jake's skin hands moving lower to start unbuttoning his shirt. “Let me.” 

Jake moans, louder still when Adrian not-so-accidentally brushes past a nipple on his mission to get him undressed, but he nods. He has his hands clasped behind his back, and Adrian pushes it halfway down his arms as soon has he's done unbuttoning, creating a loose bond for him already. He takes care of his jeans next, popping that button too and slowly unzipping it. The erection beneath the fabric is obvious, and Adrian can't help but cup it before he pulls the jeans down; the noise that prompts from Jake is nothing short of magnificent. He's so open and responsive like this, wouldn't dream of suppressing his reactions, and Adrian _missed_ this. Missed him so much more than he could ever find words to describe. 

He crouches to peel the jeans down Jake's leg and let him step out of them, seizes the opportunity to mouth at Jake's dick through his boxers, finds that there's already a wet spot on them, and his own cock throbs almost painfully. He might not be able to make this last for as long as he wants it to – and he wants it to last _forever_. Need pulses through his veins and yet he doesn't want to rush anything, makes slow progress of ridding Jake of his briefs. At first he just pulls the waistband down enough so it sits beneath the crown of Jake's hard cock, blows on the wet mess there, and then licks the precome away. He cups Jake's balls, still covered by fabric, and rolls them in his palm. Jake curses, and so Adrian stills, waiting until he gets himself back under control, before he pulls the briefs all the way down and lets Jake step out of them too. 

Indulging himself, he puts his mouth on Jake again once he's all but naked; swallows him almost completely in one go, and Jake hisses and groans, deep, guttural, and sways on the balls of his feet. But he still doesn't move, neither to thrust nor to get away from the sensation, and Jake stands up, facing him. He slides the shirt all the way off his arms so it falls to the ground, and gives Jake's cock a few superficial, rough strokes, then steps away. 

“Get on the bed,” he commands. “On your back, hands to the headboard. You know what for, right?” 

Jake answers with an eager nod and scrambles to comply, climbs onto the bed and lies down with both hands clutching the headboard, legs bent at the knee and fallen wide, looking expectantly at Adrian. The latter has to close his eyes for a few seconds, the lewd display in front of him almost too much to take in. He takes a deep breath and kneels at the head of the bed, pulling the handcuffs from his pockets and using them to secure both of Jake's hands around the top rung of the headboard. 

“Be right back,” he says and Jake keens in protest, rolling his hips. That's the intention; Adrian could have easily gotten lube and condoms from the bathroom when he got the handcuffs, but this is more fun, going out of the room if only for a moment, leaving Jake naked and tied and vulnerable and _wanting_. 

He sheds his own clothes in the bathroom, taking his time, folding them neatly away, all to draw out the time Jake has to wait for his return, and when he gets back to the bedroom Jake moans and licks his lips just at the sight of him, already wearing a condom, palm open to reveal the generous glob of lube warming to his skin. Not wasting any more time, he kneels down between Jake legs and spreads the liquid over his hole, then squirts more from the bottle onto his middle and index finger. 

At the first push of Adrian's fingers into his body, Jake struggles in his restraints, making the cuffs rattle against the headboard, and he pushes into the intrusion. He mumbles something that's too low for Adrian to make the words, but that sounds unmistakably like encouragement, like begging, and Adrian decides he's done being patient. As soon as Jake's body has started to adjust, the tight ring of his rim beginning to loosen, he fucks his fingers in and out, searching for Jake's prostrate. 

The muscles in Jake's thighs quiver and he goes back to groaning, and when he looks up to see Adrian’s face, see the pleasure painted onto his features, Jake cranes his head, eyes wide and pleading. He even manages to get the word out, a breathless, mangled, “Please.” 

Adrian adds a third finger, now concentrating on getting Jake open and ready, and keeps watching his face. Jake holds his gaze, mouth slightly open, an unabashed display of desperation and _need_ , and it's not long until Adrian shifts and pushes Jake's legs open wider and lines up between them, one hand braced by the side of Jake's torso, the other helping him guide himself inside. 

He sinks into Jake's body and, ridiculous and sappy and weird as it may seem, it's a little bit like coming home. All of this is familiar, the sound and of smell of him, the tightness of him around Adrian's cock. Adrian waits until he's adjusted, starts circling his hips in clear demand to get a move on, and Adrian _does_ , fucks into him with sharp, quick thrusts that don't help either of them draw this out. Jake comes within minutes, body clamping down further as he cries out in pleasure, and in the face of that Adrian can't hold on much longer either. 

Afterward, after pulling out and freeing Jake from the cuffs and cleaning them both up, he curls around Jake, who still hasn't moved much, still lies on his back with his arms now crossed above his head. 

“I don't want you go,” he admits, and it's dumb and reckless and impossible, but he needs to say it. “I don't want you to leave again.” 

Of course it's not that simple. Jake didn't exactly leave on his own accord the first time either and Adrian had a hand in that. Nothing about them is simple, except this, and how much Adrian wants Jake around now that he's loose and sex-stupid and lost his ability to ignore and deny it. 

“Come with us,” Jake says, and when Adrian draws in a breath to explain that it's really not that simple, he turns and puts a finger to Adrian's lips. “Shhh, no. Don't tell me how complicated that is and what it'd take to make it happen and that it's not likely it'll work out in the end. Just tell me you'll try. Promise me. That's all I ask.” 

No harm in a promise, Adrian figures, especially if it’s one he might even want to keep. Might, because this is not a decision made lightly and while his pulse is still coming down in the afterglow, and he guesses – hopes – Jake understands that. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll try.”

Jake closes his eyes and strokes his hand down Adrian’s shoulder, and Adrian follows his example, also screwing his eyes shut. They should get up, get dressed. Every minute they spend together laying here is just going to make it all the more difficult to say goodbye. Adrian should at least take a look at his bedside clock, check how long he’s got until he’s supposed to be at work tomorrow, decide whether he wants to get something to eat, or maybe go out, get a new teapot. Jake needs to go back to the station soon, too, be with Jamie, sort things out for the new witness protection program.

In the end it’s Jake who moves to sit up first. “I should go.”

“I know,” Adrian says, merely rolling to the side to make room, but making no effort to get up himself. He’ll do nothing so sensitive. He’ll stay right here, for a bit longer, until the sheets grow cold and the smell of sex, of them, fades from the room.

He watches Jake gather his clothes, watches him steal a glance back to the bed every so often. Points to the bathroom when Jake asks if he can wash up real quick, use Adrian’s deodorant to disguise the leftover tang of sweat and spunk. Jake emerges fully dressed, and before he leaves, he kneels down by the bed once more for a last kiss. Then he walks out – out of the bedroom, out of the apartment, and if Adrian doesn’t do anything about it, out of his life for a final time.

Adrian vows to give himself 48 hours, let this, yesterday and today, fade a little, before he decides whether he’ll make good on that promise. But if he’s honest with himself, his mind is already made by the time he hears the front door click shut behind Jake.

 

***

 

Two days later Adrian sits in Captain Lehane's office, and all she does when he hands her his transfer application is sigh deeply and give him a knowing look.


End file.
